Heraclitus is often depicted as a solitary figure who despised people’s ignorance and turned his back on public life in Ephesus, the ancient Greek city where he lived. Stories tell that people saw him as mysterious and eccentric. He was mysterious because what he said and wrote often didn’t make sense to people, which earned him nicknames such as ‘The Riddler’ and ‘The Dark’. He was eccentric because he refused to follow the conventional ways of living. He lived a solitary life, possibly in the mountains, with little social interaction.

Comparable to the philosopher Pythagoras, stories about Heraclitus’ life are plentiful, but hard facts are pretty scarce: for a significant part, he remains a mystery. Yet his work has been highly influential, and later thinkers such as Aristotle, Plato, and even the Stoic philosopher Seneca have speculated about what his strange, ambiguous words actually mean.

From what we can see from the remains of his work, Heraclitus was very much concerned with change. Whereas others saw the cosmos as more static and monolithic, he perceived an ongoing interplay among forces, matter, and elements, making it ever-changing

However, the changing nature of the cosmos wasn’t the only thing Heraclitus was interested in. Like his predecessors, he also had ideas about the fundamental principle of everything: the arche.

His big frustration seems to be that, even though he dedicated his whole life to examining reality and came to profound conclusions about how things actually work, people refused to listen because they were too immersed in their daily affairs.

In this episode, we’ll take a look at the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus, his ideas, his work, and his life.

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This is Journey of Ideas. My name is Stefan, also known as Einzelgänger. This is not an AI voice. I’m a real person. And I’m taking you on a long trip.

We’re exploring the ideas of the many great thinkers of history, as well as the times and places in which they lived. Right now, we’re at the very beginning of Western philosophy.

This episode is available as an audio podcast on Spotify, Substack, Apple, and several other platforms. To stay updated on all my content, subscribe to my newsletter on Substack or journeyofideas.com.

I hope you’ll enjoy this episode.

We’ve been hanging around everywhere and nowhere when exploring the skepticism of Xenophanes in the previous episode. Now, we’re setting course for a coastal town in a region we’ve visited before, Ionia, which was located on what’s currently the west coast of Turkey.

We’re still in the 6th century B.C. Watching from the deck, we see a large portcity. Trading ships are coming and going. Greek colonists had been settling there for centuries before, but around 560 B.C., the Lydian king Croesus barged in and plundered it. About 25 years later, this city, Ephesus, gave birth to Heraclitus, another Ionian philosopher who would change the way we think forever.

What do we truly know about Heraclitus? Again, there are many stories, but little factual information exists. One of the books I used to learn about this philosopher, a Dutch translation by Ben Schomakers, includes extensive notes to give the reader a better grasp of Heraclitus’s often puzzling language.

The book is called ‘Alle Woorden’ (All Words, in English) and tells us that, aside from some already dubious historical information about his birthplace, we simply don’t know who Heraclitus is. All we’re left with are a series of fragments and later accounts; material that cannot be fully verified and can only be understood through interpretation.

Hence, some stories about his life could be true, others are likely fiction. But I do think they’re amusing no matter what, and shape not necessarily who he was, but at least how he’s been perceived throughout history.

As said, Heraclitus has often been portrayed as a solitary guy with misanthropic tendencies. We don’t know whether he truly despised people or just showed tough love through harsh criticism. But from the fragments that remain, I got the impression that he didn’t have high regard for the ordinary people. He said things like:

Eyes and ears are bad witnesses for men if they have souls which cannot understand their language.

F27 (DK 22B107; KRS 198; W 13; M 13; K 16) (Sextus Empiricus, Against the Professors 7.126.8–9 Bury)

And:

May your wealth never fail you, men of Ephesus, so that your baseness may be exposed!

F57 (DK 22B125a; 96; M 106) (John Tzetzes, Notes on Aristophanes’ ‘Wealth 90a, Positano et al. p. 31)

Heraclitus comes across as feeling misunderstood and perhaps frustrated by the ignorance of his fellow Greeks. He seemed to believe that he possessed wisdom that others didn’t. He criticized Homer, for example, for not understanding the underlying nature of day and night (which we’ll talk about later), and that he deserved to be whipped for this.

And Homer wasn’t the only one who deserved punishment according to Heraclitus: Archilochus, an early poet from the Seventh century, needed a beating too, although we don’t know exactly why. He also ridiculed Pythagoras for being knowledgeable about many different subjects but lacking in wisdom. So, it’s not that surprising he’s often portrayed as a grumpy, misanthropic guy.

As his predecessors likely did before him, Heraclitus must have walked around his hometown with suspicion. He saw his fellow Greeks worshipping these humanlike gods, performing these weird rituals. And he criticized them, for example, by comparing praying to statues to chatting with a house, saying that people engage in such practices because they’re ignorant of the true nature of gods. His skepticism and criticism of conventional religion align him with Xenophanes, whom he probably never met but likely knew about, as he mentioned his name.

So, Heraclitus criticized those who, according to him, didn’t attain true wisdom. But what is wisdom? What is the truth? And how can we obtain the truth? He seemed to believe he was pretty close to understanding how the cosmos (or what we’d now call the universe) works, though his delivery was quite confusing. He wrote in riddles, paradoxes, metaphors, and aphorisms, which lends his writings to ambiguity and multiple interpretations.

Even though only fragments remain, historical sources suggest that Heraclitus wrote a single work: a book. And this book was apparently so difficult to comprehend that, as it’s said, it needed “Delian diver not to be drowned in it”. It’s almost as if he purposefully tried to make the truth hard to obtain, as if his readers needed to do a significant amount of work to get it. “Those who seek for gold dig up much earth and find a little,” said Heraclitus.

Or, maybe, he avoided clear, rational explanations, and instead wrote as he did, because what he tried to conceive goes beyond human intellectual understanding, meaning that he didn’t want to explain anything, but just point; point to something much larger than ourselves, for which human language isn’t enough to describe it. He would refute himself if he did describe the undescribable, as Professor Angie Hobbs suggests in her fantastic talk on Heraclitus (to which you’ll find a link on my Substack page).

Now, what was it that Heraclitus wanted us to understand? Let’s explore his work in several different ‘themes’, starting with what seems to be the cornerstone of his philosophy, the Logos, and continuing from there.

I’d like to emphasize that I’m not an academic scholar of pre-Socratic philosophy or something like that. This isn’t an academic paper, but rather an informed exploration by a philosophy enthusiast who loves drawing outside the lines, meaning I like to expand on ideas that I find interesting and see if they’re relevant to our daily experiences; something I’ve been doing for years on my YouTube channel, Einzelgänger.

Logos

Now, who or what governs all this? This is a question that the Presocratic philosophers pondered for a long time. And according to Heraclitus, all people before him who tried to answer this question were wrong, and he, himself, was right.

He argued that Pythagoras lost himself in mathematics; Homer and Hesiod told stories, but neither really found what they were looking for. In one way or another, they sought the truth about the nature of the world. Hence, the Milesian Presocratic philosopher Anaximander proposed the ‘apeiron,’ Anaximenes argued that the first principle of everything is air, and Xenophanes believed God is a single supreme being. But according to Heraclitus, descriptions such as theirs couldn’t really grasp the truth behind it all, which he himself referred to as the ‘Logos’.

When trying to at least superficially grasp what Heraclitus actually meant by ‘Logos,’ I found different interpretations. Some, like John Burnet’s, point to a more rational principle; something that the Stoics later developed to become their own explanation of the Logos.

Others, like Ben Schomaker’s, speak of something more like a voice of reality, heard within oneself as a voice of wisdom, telling what to do in the here and now, tailored to each individual. At least, that’s how I understood it. From what I’ve found, we can safely say that, for Heraclitus, Logos is a higher force, perhaps even divine, that brings order to the cosmos, what we could anachronistically call ‘the universe’.

The problem Heraclitus repeatedly seems to raise is that people are not in tune with the Logos speaking within them. They are “asleep,” as he says, and therefore they block their own access to a higher understanding. “The Logos, like the whole world, common — accessible to all — and yet we fail to see what is right before our eyes,” as Robin Waterfield describes it in his book The First Philosophers.

Unfortunately, Heraclitus doesn’t offer a step-by-step practical guide to accessing the Logos. And that’s what frustrated later philosophers about him; his writings are obscure and unclear. I mean, this guy, who was so critical of other people’s claims on this matter, declaring he knew how things worked, but then came up with a collection of riddles even geniuses like Plato and Aristotle couldn’t make sense of… that’s pretty wild, isn’t it?

But when we think of it… How can we describe something so profound and obscure? How can we reduce reality to a bunch of numbers and formulas or simple theories? Reality is difficult to grasp, and that’s what Heraclitus seems to want to show with his writings. The reason he never describes or explains the Logos in detail may be that it’s simply too difficult to capture in words.

He merely points at it. And that’s why he tells us not to follow him, but what he is referring to: the word that always is, yet remains unnoticed: “not before they hear it, not when they hear it, even though everything happens in accordance with it,” he wrote.

Even though Heraclitus didn’t explain the Logos itself, he did, more or less, explain its workings and manifestations, or the way Logos shows itself in the world, albeit in his usual metaphors and paradoxes. One of these manifestations is how all things appear and function in opposites.

Opposites

Things function and exist as they do because of an interplay of opposites and the tension between them. Heraclitus described the tension between opposites with the metaphor of the bow and the lyre. The tension makes both instruments functional. But it wouldn’t be there if there weren’t a pull in both directions. When you pull the string of a bow in one direction, the bow itself pulls back in the opposite direction. Now, through this tension, the manifestations within the world are possible.

Take a road, for example. A road goes up a mountain. But it also descends from the mountain into a lower area. It’s still the same road. And it only exists because there are two points it connects. If one of the two sides were to cease to exist, there wouldn’t be a road!

The same goes for day and night, winter and summer, and war and peace. One thing wouldn’t appear without the other. Without day, there wouldn’t be night. Without winter, there wouldn’t be summer. Without war, there wouldn’t be peace. And so, doesn’t that mean that opposites are parts of the same? Can we speak of unity between opposites, a unity essential for the existence of, basically, any phenomenon we encounter in the world?

According to Heraclitus, humans fail to distinguish the unity of opposites. Take, for example, the gods Dionysus and Hades. One is full of life, the other symbolizes death. But Heraclitus mentions that people fail to see that they’re one and the same. Because how can there be life without death, and how can there be death without life? So, why do we celebrate the former and mourn the latter?

We often see people fond of one thing and averse to the other. We celebrate birth, but mourn death. We like wealth and comfort, but fear poverty and struggle. We highly esteem peace and prosperity but loathe war and hardship. But to Heraclitus, these distinctions don’t make sense as there cannot be one without the other. It’s as absurd as loving a mountain top but hating the foot of the mountain: there wouldn’t be a top without a foot. In fact, there wouldn’t be a mountain at all. For anything to exist, there must be opposites.

And precisely because any opposite has its play in the universe, we can’t categorize any of them as simply good or bad. Their value is relative, as we can easily see when we place ourselves in various situations and crawl into the skins of different beings.

As Heraclitus observes: “The sea is the purest and the impurest water. Fish can drink it, and it is good for them; to humans it is undrinkable and destructive.” The same applies to acts that involve physical harm, which we generally see as wrong, but physicians who cut and stab, causing extreme pain in their patients, get paid for it.

Thus, while some things may appear good while others may appear bad from a particular perspective, they are just different sides of the same coin.

So, Heraclitus’s observations have huge implications for how we judge the world, which is often quite one-sided. We tend to view the world from our own unique perspectives. A strong example he gives is that our current ‘state’ shapes how we appreciate things: a healthy person may not think twice about how fortunate he is, and goes on to complain about various daily affairs. But a sick person will see health as very desirable, longing for it and wishing to regain it above all else.

We can approach our ‘moods’ in the same way. How we feel impacts how we see the world. When we’re angry, we see things differently than when we’re cheerful. When we’re hungry, we desire food, but when we’re full, the mere thought of another meal may make us feel sick.

So, our judgments depend on our situations; our mental and physical states, our desires, our interests, and convictions. And as these things are always changing and vary from person to person, so do our judgments. Hence, Heraclitus remarks: for people, some things are good and bad, but for God, everything is good and just.

Now, what characterizes the interplay of opposites is ongoing change. We don’t just encounter a mere diversity of things, like different species or weather conditions. Things also change continuously. Everything is always in a state of becoming, including ourselves.

Flux

Heraclitus is best known for his observation that everything is in flux. “Panta rhei,” everything is flowing, are the famous words associated with him, although there isn’t any proof that he ever said those words, which supposedly come from Plato. But when we look at what Heraclitus said about change, we’ll see that the saying “everything is flowing” fits quite well.

“On those who step into the same rivers ever different waters are flowing,” Heraclitus said. Or something along those lines, because there’s no real consensus about which version of the saying (and there are several) is the correct one. Another version is: “You cannot step in the same river twice.”

Now, what did Heraclitus mean by this? How come we cannot step in the same river twice? How so are different waters flowing in the same rivers? And what does the river stand for?

Several later philosophers tried to make sense of the river metaphor. A popular interpretation is that, as the river is always flowing, whenever we step into the same river, the water is always different. The water we stepped into a couple of days ago may already have reached the sea, and the water we step into today is still on its way there.

So, what does the river stand for? From what I’ve found, it stands for basically everything; a reality in constant flux. Everything means not just stuff out there in the world, but also ourselves. Reality changes, and we’re changing with it.

Now, again, see what implications this has on our lives. When everything is changing all the time, something that has one form now will have a different form later. This also applies to our mental and physical states.

One day, we’re healthy and are concerned with daily affairs like careers and dating, and the next, we’re severely ill, and the only thing we want is to get better. One moment, we’re in a good mood, and our noisy neighbors are just background noise. The next moment, we’re in a bad mood, and our noisy neighbors are the worst thing, completely ruining our lives. These inner states are always in flux.

When we realize that nothing stays the same, we also understand that expecting things to remain as they are is pretty unrealistic, even though many people desire it: they want the good to stay as it is, and the bad never to occur.

Take, for example, relationships. In the early stages, we see each other through rose-tinted glasses. Everything is beautiful, and we may even experience a perpetual high during the days of being in love. However, this infatuation almost always subsides. And so we see that relationships pass through different phases.

When people eventually marry, despite the fact that marriage is supposed to be a permanent commitment, the change still continues. The people who enter the marriage are not the same people a couple of years later, and the circumstances in which they are married might be radically different.

Now, does that mean that something like marriage is antithetical to what Heraclitus proposes? When everything is in flux, what’s the point of making permanent commitments like marriage? After all, the person you’re committing to won’t be the same person anyway, so what are we doing?

But here’s where Heraclitus’s river metaphor gets interesting.

The river doesn’t just stand for the flux of everything. It also stands for identity. Sure, this may sound a bit strange and unexpected; it surely did for me when grappling with this concept. But think about this question: Isn’t the river a river because it changes?

I mean, we can agree that the river’s content constantly changes, and thus we never step in the same waters twice. But isn’t it so that without change, it wouldn’t be a river to begin with? Isn’t change what makes a river a river? And with change, I mean: an ongoing stream of water going from point A to point B? And so, can’t we say that change is an essential part of the river’s identity?

What Heraclitus seems to get at is that everything is in flux, but flux is also the basis of all things. No ‘thing’ is fixed; there are only processes. They’re continually becoming, which is what makes a thing a thing and a being a being. We only have to look at our bodies to see that such a worldview makes sense. What’s a human? Is a human a monolithic, unchanging being? Or is it an ongoing process? And isn’t our ever-changing nature what makes us human? Aren’t the immensely complex processes of our bodies what make us alive and thus grant us our identity?

Coming back to the concept of marriage… Isn’t marriage, like the river, an ongoing process rather than a fixed, immovable thing? Isn’t change, meaning, the challenges you face together, feelings for each other that develop and deepen over time, changing circumstances, the physical and mental alterations of both spouses, to the coming and raising of children, what makes marriage marriage?

Heraclitus didn’t set marriage as an example to illustrate his idea (and I mean the idea of change as identity). But I do, as I think it does it quite well. So, let’s dissect this example a bit further. When we marry, we commit to something permanent; it’s a sacred bond between two people, based on a promise to “do” life together and stay with each other through thick and thin.

The marriage has an outer form, the ‘mold’, so to speak, which gives it a permanent identity. But the content of the marriage is fluid. It’s an ever-changing series of experiences: from moving from house to house to getting grandchildren to crises and hardships. Like the river, it’s always changing, yet stays the same. It may be unchanging on the surface level (or on paper), but the underlying reality is that it’s in a constant process of transforming and becoming. This flux is what makes marriage marriage; if there weren’t flux, what would marriage be?

And so, the river may be different every time we step into it; it nonetheless remains a river. We could say that there’s a difference between how we experience something and the ontological facts about the river.

We experience a river as one, distinctive, identifiable phenomenon: a body of water, streaming from a higher to a lower area, often ending in a sea or lake. Most rivers are stable enough to last for centuries, sometimes millennia, so why not give them names, as they’re pretty effective markers in terms of geography? Yet, on an ontological level, none of these rivers remains the same; in terms of substance, the change is continuous, despite occurring within a seemingly stable form.

But you may wonder: The idea that everything is in flux and that all things arise from an interplay between opposites, all governed by a divine force called Logos, making things appear, move, transform, perish, and so forth… it sounds all very glamorous and beautiful, but how does this actually work?

Fire & strife

In earlier episodes, we’ve explored the idea of a fundamental principle, an underlying element or force from which everything derives, also known as ‘arche’. For Thales of Miletus, the arche was water, for Anaximander it was ‘apeiron,’ for Anaximenes it was ‘air,’ for Pythagoras it was number. How about Heraclitus? Did he propose an ‘arche’ as well? And if so, what was it?

Like his predecessors, Heraclitus also rejected the Homeric gods and sought a rational explanation for the world, rather than a mythological one. As we’ve seen before, he came up with the Logos. So, how does this supposed ‘Logos’ operate? Is there some god pushing the proverbial river forward? Is there a specific element that lies at the basis of all these changes, movements, and transformations? When existence hinges on tension, what causes the tension? Who’s pulling the string of the bow?

For Heraclitus, there is an underlying element to everything, but it’s neither water nor air: it’s fire. Now, did he just try to be original here, or does fire as a fundamental principle actually make sense? How could something that usually brings about destruction be the fundamental stuff of everything?

The thing is that Heraclitus saw destruction as an essential element of becoming. Everything changes, and when doing so, things perish and come into existence. So, it’s not at all weird to see fire as the basis for all these transformations, akin to how a blacksmith uses fire to melt metals and forge tools, such as swords and axes. How Heraclitus exactly saw fire as the arche, we can only speculate, as all we’re left with are riddles on the matter, like:

Fire lives the death of earth, and air lives the death of fire; water lives the death of air, and earth that of water.

Or:

The transmutations of fire are, first, the sea; and of the sea, half is earth, and half the lightning flash.

Scholars I’ve come across describe Heraclitus’ fire not as a passive substance from which everything arises, as in Thales’ primordial ocean, but as an active, dynamic principle, closer to a ‘force’ or ‘process’. Fire is active. It brings things into being through change and also destroys them, transforming them into something else. Elements like water, wind, and earth come and go like this as well, owing their existence and demise to fire as the transformative force.

“Fire coming upon all things will sift and seize them,” wrote Heraclitus, treating fire as a kind of currency: exchanged for everything that comes into existence, and returned for everything that perishes. “All things are an exchange for Fire, and Fire for all things, even as wares for gold and gold for wares,” he wrote.

For Heraclitus, destruction is as important as creation. The process of change is one of becoming and perishing, mediated by fire, governed by the Logos. At least, that’s how I’m currently ‘making it make sense,’ and it’s probably too simplistic, because if it were as straightforward, Heraclitus would have said so, wouldn’t he? Nevertheless, based on what I read from the experts, I don’t think I’m entirely off the mark here.

Delving more into Heraclitus’s process of flux, we discover that he had a thing for conflict. Events we usually consider bad, such as war or other forms of dispute… this Presocratic philosopher embraced them. Was it out of a wish for humanity to destroy itself? Was it sheer sadism, perhaps? Unlikely.

Heraclitus scolded Homer, whom he thought had failed to see the unity of opposites. “Would that strife might perish from among gods and men!” said Homer, which Heraclitus saw as a denial of things that are just as necessary for existence as their opposites. War, betrayal, wrath… are these simply evils that should not exist? Or are they essential opposites to peace, honesty, and calm, whose tension makes existence itself possible?

Here’s why conflict seems essential to existence. Strife is how change occurs, and change is what existence is. Without it, nothing could come into being or persist. How could there be life without death, peace without conflict, joy without sorrow, fullness without hunger? How could rivers, mountains, and oceans arise without friction, destruction, and transformation elsewhere?

What still troubles me, though, is the role of fire in all this. These ongoing changes Heraclitus writes about… I see them everywhere. I see the weather shifting. I see people entering and leaving the café where I’m writing this. From our imagined ship near the Ephesian shore, we watch the sea endlessly changing its shape, ships coming and going from the harbour, birds darting from place to place.

But where is the fire in all this? I don’t see anything burning when people enter or leave a building, or when clouds pass overhead. So what does Heraclitus mean by fire? Perhaps it has a broader sense: not literal flames, but heat, tension, energy, the conditions that make movement and friction possible. Or perhaps ‘fire’ is more like a metaphor for the process through which things come to be and pass away.

Heraclitean ethics

Heraclitus, despite his misanthropic tendencies, had some wise words about how to live in this ever-changing world full of tension and strife. Unlike his Milesian predecessors, whose philosophies focused almost exclusively on natural phenomena, Heraclitus also treaded the field of ethics.

To live a good life, the most important thing is to understand the Logos. The main goal is wisdom, not fake wisdom only to impress others, but true wisdom, which leads one to see reality for what it is. “The supreme excellence is right thinking and wisdom, which consists in knowing ‘how all things are steered through all things,’” which I quoted from the book Philosophy Before Socrates by Richard McKirahan.

The good life isn’t about understanding alone, McKirahan makes clear. We should actively examine the world and ourselves, “speak the truth and act in accordance with nature”. What that exactly means in practical terms, we can only guess. Oh, and we shouldn’t be drunk, which only makes us stumble and ignorant, so it seems that we won’t get closer to the truth while intoxicated, according to Heraclitus, but only with a clear mind.

Here’s where I want to conclude our trip to Ephesus. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey so far. Things have been going a bit slowly for this podcast, as I’m focusing on my YouTube channel at the moment. But in the future, I might shift more attention to this project. So, I hope you’ll be willing to wait for other episodes. In the next one, we’ll be sailing the Tyrrhenian Sea toward the city of Elea, where we’ll find a philosopher whose ideas are diametrically opposed to those of Heraclitus.

I hope to see you then,

Thank you for listening.

Sources

* Alle woorden (Ben Schomakers)

* The Fragments of Heraclitus (Translated by G. T. W. Patrick, Ph.D.)

* Early Greek Philosophy (John Burnet)

* Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Richard D. McKirahan)

* Presocratic Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction (Catherine Osborne)

* A Presocratics Reader: Selected Fragments and Testimonia (Patricia Curd, Richard D. McKirahan)

* The First Philosophers (Robin Waterfield)

Online sources

* Lives of the Eminent Philosophers (Diogenes Laertius) https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Diogenes_Laertius/Lives_of_the_Eminent_Philosophers/9/Heraclitus*.html

* Heraclitus (Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy) https://iep.utm.edu/heraclit/

* Heraclitus (Standford Encyclopedia of Philosophy) https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/heraclitus/

* Heraclitus (Britannica) https://www.britannica.com/biography/Heraclitus

* Heraclitus (Wikiquote) https://nl.wikiquote.org/wiki/Heraclitus

* Heraclitus: Pre-Socratic Philosophy (Professor Angie Hobbs) (Philosophy Overdose, YouTube)

* Introduction to Heraclitus (Academy of Ideas, YouTube)

Mark Twain.

Is there anything more annoying than people who doubt everything? You know, the types that constantly question what people say, who refuse to just go along with the story? These people are precisely the ones to whom the internet meme “You must be fun at parties” applies.

In all likelihood, these individuals are skeptics. Their philosophical stance in life is to doubt what others take for granted and to question whether their own beliefs are truly valid. Such people are generally irritating, tiresome, and smug… No, I’m just generalizing here. But I know the annoyance or even anger that arises when your perfectly crafted story or beautiful theory gets ruined by someone pointing out that, well, there are some problems with accepting what you claim to be the truth as truth.

Now and then, this ‘skeptical intervention’, so to speak, barges into what was meant to be just a lighthearted conversation or harmless gossip.

Imagine, for example, a group of friends sitting in a bar, discussing a recent betrayal, throwing all kinds of truisms and prejudices on the table, just to explain why the ex-husband in question left a seemingly perfect marriage for a twenty-year-old bar girl in Thailand, and what a complete jerk he is. And they are obviously enjoying the conversation.

But then, the skeptic of the bunch basically schools them by saying that although their theories could be true, there’s always another side to the story, and lots of details they just don’t know about, so, basically, they don’t know what the heck they’re talking about!

But skepticism can cut much deeper than this. A skeptic can attack and dismantle an entire worldview.

Just imagine a civilization living in harmony under one faith: Pastafarianism, the worship of His Noodly Appendage, the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Everything is running smoothly. The Pastafarian religion is present in virtually all areas of life, including schools, workplaces, politics, public spaces, and, of course, churches, which are ubiquitous and well-attended. It functions as social cement and has given people purpose for many generations.

Now, a religious skeptic grabs the open mic at a local church and begins to question what everyone has taken for granted for many generations. “This Flying Spaghetti Monster,” he says. “Has anyone actually ever seen the guy? How can you be sure he’s not a Macaroni Monster? Or a Lasagna Monster? And those beer volcanoes and stripper factories this prophet Bobby promised us in the afterlife… have you ever seen pictures of it? How do you know for sure they exist?”

Of course, he’s met with opposition. Who dares to challenge the Great Noodle in the Sky, the Saucy Master, Creator of Heaven and Earth? Who dares to oppose a well-functioning system of belief, the very fabric of a civilization, risking chaos and collapse?

Well, that’s the skeptic for you. Skeptics can be annoying, but they are essential to our progress as a species and to our pursuit of the truth.

This episode won’t be about philosophical Skepticism as a whole, which I hope to explore in the future, but about the man who is often considered the first Skeptic in Western history. We’re talking about a Presocratic philosopher named Xenophanes.

In this episode, we’ll explore his life and ideas and how they can help us cultivate inner peace amid the noise of modern media and information overload.

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This is the Journey of Ideas. My name is Stefan, also known as Einzelgänger. This is not an AI voice. I’m a real person. And I’m taking you on a long trip.

We’re exploring the ideas of the many great thinkers of history, as well as the times and places in which they lived. Right now, we’re at the very beginning of Western philosophy.

This episode is available as an audio podcast on Spotify, Substack, Apple, and several other platforms. To stay updated on all my content, subscribe to my newsletter on Substack or journeyofideas.com.

I hope you’ll enjoy the episode.

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We’ll begin with the birth of skepticism, focusing on Xenophanes, a Presocratic philosopher, his ideas, and the influence he had. After that, we’ll examine today’s situation, followed by a practical part on how to apply skepticism in our lives. Feel free to skip parts that don’t interest you.

Now, let’s set sail for the ancient Greek colony of Ionia, where we’ll visit the city of Colophon, the birthplace of the philosopher Xenophanes.

The birth of skepticism

To understand why skepticism arose, we have to consider the typical worldviews of the ancient Greeks during the time of Xenophanes. How did they see the world? What did they believe in?

The ancient Greeks were a religious bunch. They had gods, many of them we know: Zeus, Poseidon, Aphrodite, Hades, who governed the world. The Greeks worshiped these gods in temples, brought them offerings, and believed their fate depended on them. And these gods played parts in many stories.

Now, one day, a troublemaker from Colophon dared to ridicule his fellow Greeks and their religion. His name was Xenophanes, and even though he’s regarded as one of the first philosophers, he wasn’t quite the typical bookish, scholarly type. Xenophanes was a poet who originated from Colophon, but, as the stories go, was mainly on the road.

Xenophanes clearly did not buy the idea of human-like gods as described by Homer and Hesiod. He found the whole notion that these gods looked and behaved like humans—Greeks to be precise—pretty ridiculous. Like, why would the creators of the universe look like Greeks? And why are they ‘born’ if they’re gods? Moreover, why would they have all these horrible human characteristics, such as stealing, betraying, and killing each other?

These so-called Gods behave just like the average Greek, but then thousands of times as powerful, and with their egos turned up ten thousand percent. This Zeus fellow is more like a rioded up grandpa with a superiority complex, isn’t it?

Xenophanes suspected that the Greek gods of his time were simply products of culture, shaped according to the people who worshipped them. Quite bluntly, he stated: “Ethiopians say that their gods are snub-nosed and black; Thracians that theirs are blue-eyed and red-haired.”

We can observe this trend today as well, as Jesus is often depicted differently by various cultures. In China, he looks Chinese. In Africa, he looks African. And in the American Midwest, you can bet he’s white and blue-eyed. So, Xenophanes’ observation was spot on, in my opinion, even though it’s not always the case. We also see gods depicted as animals or animal-like beings in, for example, Egyptian or Indian mythology.

So, imagine Xenophanes traveling from city to city, roasting his religious fellow Greeks; he probably collected a fair share of haters throughout his life. I just picture him barging into a Greek tavern, taking the stage, reciting one of his poems, like this one:

Homer and Hesiod have attributed to the gods all sorts of things that are matters of reproach and censure among men…as they sang of numerous illicit divine deeds: theft, adultery, and mutual deceit.

Fragments B11 and B12, retrieved from Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy

Unfortunately for the atheists among us, Xenophanes wasn’t one. Despite his criticism of the anthropomorphic gods, he had his own idea of the divine, which tends to point to an early form of monotheism. I quote: “One god greatest among gods and men, not at all like mortals in body or in thought.” What exactly he meant by this is much debated, as are many other aspects of his worldview.

His theories about the sea, the moon, the stars, and other natural phenomena are interesting. For example, he claimed that the sea is the source of water and wind, and that stars originate from burning clouds. His attempts to explain natural phenomena through reason rather than mythology earned him a place among thinkers such as Thales, Anaximander, and others.

If you’re interested in Xenophanes’ views on natural phenomena, there are plenty of resources to draw from, which I’ve listed on Substack (below).

I’d like to focus on his ideas on knowledge. Many consider Xenophanes to be the first skeptic, not just because he criticized the gods, but also because he reflected on knowledge: on what we can and cannot know in general, which, according to some scholars, makes him a global skeptic. Let’s imagine him in that tavern again, reciting the following poem:

…and of course the clear and certain truth no man has seennor will there be anyone who knows about the gods and what I say about all things.For even if, in the best case, one happened to speak just of what has been brought to pass,still he himself would not know. But opinion is allotted to all.

Fragment 34, retrieved from the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy

Simply put? All is belief, all is opinions. No one can really know the truth. “All things,” the reality in general, is unknowable by us. And even if someone spoke the truth, they could never verify that it was true. And so it seems Xenophanes asks us to be humble in terms of the truth.

“But wait a minute,” I hear you think. “Aren’t there absolute facts? For example, can’t we say with absolute certainty that, on a sunny day, the sky is blue?”

Xenophanes would say, probably, that it seems true from our own perspective. The sky appears blue on a sunny day. But that doesn’t mean it’s an absolute truth. It may be the truth, and even if it were, there’s no way of knowing for sure. We’re limited to our human perception.

For some people, such skepticism is quite displeasing because it means that whatever you’re convinced of may not be true. So, whatever information you’ve adopted as truth, such as ‘I broke up with my ex because he’s an a*****e’ or ‘my ex-wife was just a narcissist and that’s that,’ the skeptic would not immediately accept it as the truth.

However, to you gaslighters out there, that doesn’t mean an opinion or belief can always be dismissed as nonsense, or that some views and beliefs aren’t more plausible than others or likely to be true, based on sound evidence. Here’s what Xenophanes said about this:

In the beginning the gods did not at all reveal all things clearly to mortals, but by searching men in the course of time find them out better.

Fragment 16, retrieved from the University of Vermont

Xenophanes was inviting us to inquire, to seek, to question, to understand things better.

Even though we may never know the truth, we can approach it by conducting a thoughtful investigation and critical reflection. The goal is not to reach an absolute, unfalsifiable truth, but to at least get a bit closer to it; to form the best opinions and beliefs as possible, based on the best evidence available.

Many people today have it completely backwards. They claim to own the truth, often based on poor or nonexistent evidence. We see many self-proclaimed experts running around today, confidently making assertions of truth that can easily be debunked by more substantial evidence. Bold claims of truth dominate today’s discourse, without humility or taking into account our limits of knowledge, which is the opposite of what Xenophanes preached.

Now that we know more about Xenophanes, I would like to elaborate further on his attitude toward knowledge, as it remains relevant today. I believe it could even change one’s attitude toward today’s tsunami of information and fake news that often causes anxiety, anger, and, sometimes, despair.

So, I’d like to leave Ancient Greece for now, make a trip to today’s day and age, and take Xenophanes’ early skepticism to see how we can apply it.

Trust me bro

We’re in the twenty-twenties now. Worldwide, idyllic little harbor cities on the coasts have been replaced by vast skylines. We see giant seaports welcoming container ships full of stuff, mainly bought and sold online, at the click of a mouse. Technological advancements caused the emergence of the information age, which has made our lives much easier in many ways but also more cluttered.

We live in an era of information wars, numerous online media outlets, influencers, and echo chambers. Of course, Xenophanes wasn’t familiar with these things. However, I’d like to demonstrate that his reasoning can still be applied to what we’re dealing with: unprecedented amounts of information, much of it misinformation and so-called fake news, which often evokes emotions in people, such as anxiety and anger.

As mentioned, Xenophanes was critical of what people in his time accepted as truth, whether it was Pythagoras’s concept of reincarnation, which he ridiculed, or the human-like gods described by Homer and Hesiod. Interestingly, he noticed specific trends regarding what people tend to accept as truth.

For example, Xenophanes observed that people tend to believe in what feels familiar and comprehensible to them, what fits within their frame of reference.

I mean… What a coincidence that the Greek gods, these superior beings, resemble the Greeks. And how come that Ethiopian gods look like, well, Ethiopians? Hence, Xenophanes argued that cows would probably believe that the gods look like cows, and horses would assert that they look like horses, if these animals were intelligent enough to grasp the concept of the divine.

Xenophanes also noticed that people’s beliefs about the gods were suspiciously convenient.

After all, there’s nothing wrong with my lying, cheating, stealing, and killing other people, if the gods are behaving in the same way, isn’t it?

So, it’s almost as if people accept a truth not because it’s well-researched, but because it feels familiar and comforting, because it confirms what they already believe, or simply because it’s the version of reality they want to be true.

It’s funny, sometimes, when you look at two opposing media outlets, say Fox News and MSNBC, reporting on the same issue, they come up with two entirely different stories; Fox will say that the conservatives “owned the libs”, while MSNBC will announce the “complete meltdown” of the conservatives.

How can such completely opposite versions of the truth exist? And more importantly, in this case, why do some people embrace the story by Fox News as truth, and others the story by MSNBC as truth? Could it be out of convenience? Personal preference?

After all, isn’t it generally more pleasant to believe that the good guys are more or less like yourself, that your values are the correct values, and that your behavior is the proper behavior? And if so, wouldn’t you rather accept a truth that aligns with your current beliefs?

Now, the problem is that people often seem so overtaken by their preferences that they are willing to accept a truth, even when someone with half a brain can see it’s nonsense, because it’s what they want to hear.

In today’s diverse media landscape, a great way to generate views is to select an audience, clearly convey what they want to hear, and reinforce it. Influencers, a relatively recent form of media, are all too familiar with this. Many are masters at crafting messages, often sensational and rage bait, customized to serve the audience’s preferences.

In many cases, the audience eats it up without the slightest critical thinking or any doubts. Fake news? Who cares! As long as it aligns with my preferred view of the world! Or, as long as it feeds my anger! And thus, people allow themselves to be brainwashed by some shady influencer claiming to speak “facts” while his only source is “trust me, bro.”

I don’t have to explain how dangerous this can be. Especially when highly dubious beliefs begin to radicalize people. Here’s where the concept of echo chambers comes in.

Remember what Xenophanes wrote about seeking to understand things better? Or, in other words, coming closer to the truth, even though we can never know it?

The people inside these echo chambers may think they have the truth, but their approach to seeking it is stifled. Groupthink and the isolated nature of these spaces expose them only to information that confirms what they already believe, reinforcing conviction rather than bringing them any closer to the truth.

Being part of an echo chamber is almost like being in a cult: authority figures claim to possess the truth, dogmas, and ‘us against them’; members parrot each other, correct and exclude those who don’t follow the narrative, and generally believe that outside information cannot be trusted.

This is obviously not the skeptic’s way; on the contrary.

Luckily, we have an army of well-intentioned people who go to battle with the monster called misinformation: fact-checkers. In a way, fact checkers are skeptics. They doubt information posing as truth, do research, look for proof and inconsistencies, and then confront that information, debunking what they deem inaccurate based on their ‘fact-checking’.

But Xenophanes, if he lived today, would probably argue that even fact-checkers can never be entirely sure that what they’ve found is the ‘real’ truth. They may be closer to it (thanks to careful research and reason), but they shouldn’t fall into the same trap as those who spread misinformation as fact. Because, as Xenophanes said, “opinion is allotted to all.” And if you follow Xenophanes, you’d even doubt that claim.

Fact-checking, or rather, ‘truth-seeking’, can even make matters worse. Some self-styled truthseekers aren’t very bright. You know, people who are skeptical of the mainstream media, but then go do their “own research”. And possibly due to a lack of critical thinking or an inability to deal with complexities, they begin embracing these wild conspiracy theories so ridiculous that they would be better off watching NewsMax. A typical case of skepticism gone wrong.

Now, being a ‘skeptic’ may seem a bit frustrating, doesn’t it? I mean… how satisfying is it to just accept something (preferably something you tend to agree with) as ‘truth’ and be done with it?

“The libs are morons, period!”

“Android is better than Apple. That’s a fact!”

“People are only as faithful as their options, and that’s that!”

Truth then becomes a bit like fast food: lacking in nutrients, readily available, and it satisfies the appetite. Life becomes so simple when everything makes sense, contrary to that of the skeptic, for whom nothing makes sense.

However, I’d like to explore the argument that skepticism, when done right, is actually a relatively calm approach to today’s flood of information. And that Xenophanes’ idea that people only have opinions, not actual knowledge, is no reason for despair. But don’t take my word for it, of course.

Ready? Let’s get into it.

Skepticism for inner peace

Xenophanes didn’t write a book on ‘how to be a skeptic,’ at least, not that we know of, nor are there signs that he saw his way of thinking as a path to inner peace. But those who followed in his footsteps, nurturing the seeds of skepticism planted by Xenophanes, developed it into essentially a way of life. I’m specifically referring to Pyrrho of Elis and his later interpreter, Sextus Empiricus, philosophers we’ll hopefully explore someday.

Yet, I still think that the core of what Xenophanes left us about his way of thinking—the idea that we can understand things better by seeking, yet we can never know the truth—is in itself enough to see how the skeptical approach can lead to a sense of peace of mind.

What I’m about to share is more of an experimental application of Xenophanes’ skepticism in daily life, exploring why it matters and how it could be beneficial. I’ll let you be the judge of whether it makes sense.

We started this episode by saying that skeptics can be annoying. They don’t just take something at face value. They don’t just accept something as truth. They will always doubt what’s being said, and, when debating them, they’ll poke holes in your arguments or ask you critical questions that shake your belief system.

Being that skeptical, irritating, probably uninvited guest to your nephew’s birthday party seems an exhausting way to live. But the skeptical attitude could actually be a pathway to inner peace.

Especially in the information age, where we’re bombarded every day with news, opinion articles, influencers telling you ‘the facts,’ podcast discussions with ‘specialists,’ there’s an unprecedented amount of triggers for the mind. For many, being confronted with, let’s say, fifty different versions of the truth, becomes pretty much an emotional rollercoaster. At one moment, migrants are the problem, then it’s Russia, then it’s trans people, then it’s Islam, and then it’s fascism.

The problems lie in what we do with that information.

Do we assent, meaning, do we engage with it, adopt it as a fact? Do we then ruminate and worry about the information we just assented to? Do we share the information with others? And when we adopt the information as facts, do we then attack those who contradict those facts? Are we becoming increasingly angry, fearful, and pessimistic about the world due to the vast amount of information we consume? After spending a night doomscrolling, do we feel that the world is about to collapse and everything beyond our front doors is a war zone? Do we go out and physically harm a bunch of people?

In many cases, letting ourselves be emotionally controlled by the floodwaves of information is a horrible way to live. And the saddest thing of all is that it’s primarily based on incomplete understandings of reality. There’s always another side to the story, things we don’t see or understand, and complexities that go beyond human perception.

As Xenophanes claimed: “But as for certain truth, no man has known it, nor shall he know it, neither of the gods, nor yet of all the things of which I speak.”

We’re angry at interpretations, anxious about portrayals, and depressed about depictions, but not about what things really are, which, according to Xenophanes, we cannot know. Xenophanes’s wisdom suggests that as we learn to know things better, we must also remember that, despite our efforts to understand the world, we can never truly know anything for sure, which, of course, also includes his own views of the world.

For some people, the uncertainty that comes with this can be terrifying. But we could also see it as a reason not to worry or get angry, since any facts that disturb us emotionally are most likely not entirely accurate.

By staying skeptical, we prevent ourselves from being burdened by the weight of truth. We can use information to gain a better understanding of things, but with a critical eye and reservations. We don’t attach to any of it, let alone it being a reason for angrily defending it, resenting those who disagree, or hiding in fear.

As later skeptic Pyrrho argued, reality is so unstable and indeterminate that we can’t even grasp it with our senses and opinions. So, why defend something that isn’t set in stone so fiercely?

This doesn’t mean that looking for the truth is bad. Or that reporting on something or engaging in a debate is useless. It’s beneficial to gain a better understanding and to continue asking questions, digging deeper, gathering more evidence, and sharing vital information. However, a skeptic should approach it with reservations, recognizing that even well-informed opinions and beliefs are not necessarily the truth, and even if they were, we would never know for sure.

It also doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stand for something. If, after a thorough investigation, we conclude that certain information is at least close to the truth, we can take a stance, but again, with reservations and a willingness to update our views at any time.

So, a skeptic raising her eyebrow to virtually any information she’s confronted with isn’t necessarily a way to be annoying or look smart, but rather to withhold from adopting and engaging with information posing as factual. The tool she has at her disposal? A razor-sharp awareness that we can’t know anything for sure, and we should not be too quick to assume, to judge, to attack, to argue, and so forth. And a willingness to look deeper, before taking a stance.

I’d say it’s almost a form of mindfulness. The art of being mindful that, no matter how convincing something sounds or looks, it could very well be true, but we’ll never know.

Skepticism can also be beneficial when interacting with people with whom we disagree. Instead of getting angry at their differing views, we could soften up by reminding ourselves that our own views are likely not entirely accurate. We could even regard such conversations as opportunities for inquiry, to investigate opposing opinions and their sources, and see if there’s common ground or anything to learn.

And often, when someone is busy pontificating their ‘truth,’ you don’t owe them agreement, disagreement, or even engagement. Sometimes, the wisest answer is a simple grunt.

The skepticism of Xenophanes is a practice of intellectual modesty. It’s the art of saying “I believe, but maybe I’m wrong.” And in a world that worships certainty, where so many people have absolute opinions, this might be the most radical act of all.

Thank you for listening.

Sources

* Early Greek Philosophy (John Burnet)

* Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Richard D. McKirahan)

* Presocratic Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction (Catherine Osborne)

* A Presocratics Reader: Selected Fragments and Testimonia (Patricia Curd, Richard D. McKirahan)

* The First Philosophers (Robin Waterfield)

Online sources

* Xenophanes (Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy) https://iep.utm.edu/xenoph/

* Xenophanes, Fragments and Commentary (University of Vermont) https://www.uvm.edu/~jbailly/courses/11Presocratics/Xenophanes%20Fragments.html

* Xenophanes’ Skepticism (Binghamton University) https://orb.binghamton.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?params=/context/sagp/article/1264/&path_info=Lesher_NY_East_1975.pdf

* Philosophical skepticism (Wikipedia) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophical_skepticism

* Ancient Skepticism (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy) https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2018/entries/skepticism-ancient/

* The problem with “doing your own research” (Thinking is Power) https://thinkingispower.com/the-problem-with-doing-your-own-research/

* Fake News and Alternative Facts: A Guide to News Literacy (Adelphi University) https://libguides.adelphi.edu/fake_news

* Pyrrhon Of Elis (Encyclopedia Britannica) https://www.britannica.com/biography/Pyrrhon-of-Elis

* Who is... Xenophanes. The Presocratic Philosophers (Grasping Reason, YouTube)

* Xenophanes the Theologian (Solomon’s Cave, YouTube)

* Xenophanes | Ancient Philosophy (The Philosophy Academy, YouTube)

* Xenophanes: Roasting Religion Before It was Cool (JD Reiner, YouTube)

* Xenophanes Against The Gods (The History of Philosophy, part 4) (Philosophy of Faith, YouTube)

Imagine walking the streets of 6th-century BC Croton, a Greek city in Southern Italy. A small elite of aristocrats rules the town, and they aren’t doing all that well of a job. Indeed, Croton’s economy is strong, the city is influential in the region, and it has established itself as a respected center of learning.

But beneath the surface, cracks are beginning to show. Decadence is everywhere. Violence is on the rise. And you find yourself resentful about the moral decay you’re witnessing. You wonder: where is this all heading?

Then, a stranger walks by. A handsome man, followed by a group of people who appear to be his students. He moves his arms in a captivating way, as he seems to lecture his followers about matters of utmost significance. There’s something about him. As if he’s not entirely human; almost divine. You can’t help but draw closer to him, as you feel he knows something, a certain wisdom that might ease your troubled mind.

As you look over your shoulder, you continue your walk, and can’t help but ask yourself: Did I just see a regular man or a god?

After doing some inquiry in a local tavern, you quickly find out that the man you just saw is well known among the Crotonians. But the more questions you ask about his whereabouts, about what he’s doing in Croton, and what’s up with the group of people following him, the more mysterious it gets.

A confident bartender exclaims that this man, named Pythagoras, is a sage who teaches a way of life that brings one closer to the gods. He traveled to many far places where he acquired a treasure of ancient wisdom and knowledge about numbers, stars, and music. A guest, although quite drunk, tells you that Pythagoras is, in fact, a god. He’s no less than the son of Apollo, the god of rational beauty and order.

A local politician entered the conversation, saying that Pythagoras and his followers are weird. And, above all, they’re a dangerous bunch, as they try to seize power in Croton and beyond, imposing their ideologies and practices upon everyone. To him, he wasn’t a god at all: just a charlatan thirsty for power, who, quite frankly, should be exiled.

“He’s a lunatic,” someone yells from the back of the tavern.

Okay, I’m just sketching an image of how an encounter with Pythagoras and his world could be, based on the many sources about his life, appearance, ideas, and cult. No one really knows for sure what he was truly like. References from his own time are rare. Most of the material about him is fragmented or written centuries after his death, and probably not very reliable.

Due to the many conflicting and vague historical records, he remains a mysterious figure. And this made it frustrating to study him, because no matter what people wrote about him, it may very well be nonsense. But I took a shot. During my research, I felt that his main theory about the universe, as well as his role as cult leader, interests me the most. This episode will focus on these aspects, and hopefully, we’ll learn something useful for our own lives as well.

The seventh century B.C. was an exciting time.

It was a period of great empires, such as Lydia and Babylonia in the Orient, and Egypt in Northern Africa.

The Zhou dynasty in China was still going strong and was about to give birth to the great philosophers Confucius and Laozi.

Rome was still a small but developing city-state, unaware of the powerhouse it would become centuries later. And in the Orient, one of the mightiest empires was about to emerge: the Achaemenid (or Persian) empire.

We’re focusing on ancient Greece, though. You know, the Homeland of the most good-looking, smart, wise, civilized people on Earth: the Hellenics. At least, that’s how they saw themselves. Nonetheless, they were pretty great, in many aspects.

The seventh century B.C. wasn’t long after Greece experienced a revival after a long dark age.

In terms of progress, many great things have happened since then. The Greeks adopted coinage from the East, recovered literacy using a new writing system based on their Phoenician neighbors, and city-states (also known as poleis) were being formed.

At the end of the 7th century, something big was about to happen in ancient Greece; something that would change the way people thought. It would form the basis of Western philosophy and modern science.

This big thing, this revolution of thought, started in the bustling coastal city of Miletus, where, in succession, three presocratic philosophers arose: Thales, Anaximander and Anaximenes.

***

This is Journey of Ideas, my name is Stefan, also known as Einzelgänger. This is not an AI voice. I’m a real person. And I’m taking you on a long trip.

We’re exploring the ideas of the many great thinkers of history, as well as the times and places in which they lived. Right now, we’re at the very beginning of Western philosophy.

This episode is available as an audio podcast on Spotify, Substack, Apple and several other platforms, and as a full visual version with lovely background music on the Einzelgänger YouTube channel. To stay updated about all of my content, subscribe to my newsletter on Substack or on the website journeyofideas.com.

I hope you’ll enjoy the episode.

***

We hung out in Miletus for a little while, at least, in a reconstruction of it, in the first episode. We caught a glimpse of how people lived and what life must have been like, what the city must have looked like, even though there’s hardly anything left of archaic Miletus before it was destroyed by the Persians.

We saw a society full of myth and ritual, in which the gods were deeply intertwined with daily life. We saw Greek religion in the form of mythology, shrines, temples, rituals; all of which functioned as social cement for the ancient Milesians and the rest of the Greek civilization. There was order, sustained by stories and belief. But this order would soon be challenged.

Ionia was a breeding ground of freethinkers. There must have been an atmosphere that allowed for those who challenged the conventional system of Homeric gods.

These freethinkers weren’t satisfied with explaining natural phenomena by simply pointing to the gods. People at that time would say, for example, that earthquakes are caused by Poseidon, god of the sea. Or that the supreme god Zeus causes lightning and lives in his palace on Mount Olympus. But what if these beliefs were, you know, ‘just beliefs’?

Let’s go back to Miletus for a brief moment.

Remember walking through the streets smelling of freshly baked bread, then past the temples and shrines, seeing the Milesians pray and honor the gods as if their lives depended on it? That’s where we are.

Now imagine a young man walking around in this environment, looking at his fellow religious citizens with suspicion. He was sceptical. He doubted what most people at the time took for granted.

He must have been full of questions. “Are these gods people worship truly powerful? Is there any proof they exist? Or are they merely inventions, created to explain the unexplainable?”

Standing on the peninsula, he must have watched the sunset, the fishing boats drifting by, and islands fading into the horizon, and thought: “What is this all about? How does this all happen? And why?”

We may never know exactly what this sceptical Milesian thought, but we do know that he tried to figure out how the universe works, independent of mythology. That was pretty radical! I mean… doubting the status quo was one thing; trying to uncover the true workings of nature was another. But he gave it a shot in a way no one else before him did. And that’s why he’s seen as the first philosopher of the Western tradition.

His name was Thales of Miletus, born in the late 7th century BC. Thales is the first reason why we started our journey in this city. In this episode, we’ll talk about Thales and his ideas, but also about two other philosophers from Miletus who came after Thales: Anaximander and Anaximenes.

This philosophical trio shared a common goal. All three of them accepted a certain idea about our world, or actually, about the universe in general. By the way, the Greeks back then didn’t speak of the universe but of the “cosmos” which means the world seen as an ordered whole. It has a slightly different definition. But for simplicity’s sake, let’s stick with “universe”.

Thales, Anaximander and Anaximenes believed that the Earth and, therefore the universe as far as they had a concept of it, had started from something: some fundamental force. They called this source of everything “arche,” which we could loosely translate as “first principle”.

As it’s a first principle, the arche must have been something big, something so overarching and great, that everything could be derived from it. And with everything I mean everything: the trees, the oceans, the mountains, people, animals, your noisy neighbor and so forth.

The arche had to be credible (at least, for that period). It had to be rationally sound and consistent with what we can observe in nature, instead of being based on the ancient Greek version of… “trust me bro”. So, appealing to the conventional gods was not sufficient. Saying that Poseidon was the cause of earthquakes or Zeus the cause of lightning, was inadequate.

Even though Thales, Anaximander and Anaximenes agreed on a first principle underlying everything, they didn’t agree on what it actually was. All three of them had their own unique theories.

Their theories are pretty interesting. Sure, most of it is clearly not correct. But it’s important to remember that they were pioneers. And their efforts profoundly influenced the course of human thinking in the West. And therefore, they deserve our attention.

Thales & water

Thales of Miletus is regarded as the first philosopher; not just by modern scholars, but by one of the heavyweights, one of the OGs of western philosophy: Aristotle.

Yet, Thales’ contribution to philosophy and science remains controversial, for the simple reason that this man is pretty much a puzzle.

If we were to believe all the stories attributed to him, he comes across as a Wunderkind: someone who possessed immense intelligence and knowledge, and who did things almost too great to be true. It would be ironic to say he performed miracles (as he wanted to explain nature by way of, well, nature) yet reading some accounts it almost feels like he did.

I think we could safely say that Thales was a curious man, eager to explore the world and what lies beyond it.

Once, as it’s told, Thales was watching the stars. As he was so immersed in observing the mysteries of the sky, he fell into a well. A witty and charming maid saw what happened and made fun of him, and I quote Socrates: “Saying that he was crazy to know about what was up in the heavens while he could not see what was in front of him beneath his feet.”

Thales is said to have calculated the timings of solstices and equinoxes. And one of the most noteworthy accomplishments attributed to him was the prediction of a solar eclipse during a battle between the Medes and Lydians. However, many scholars reject this because, with the knowledge of that time, doing such a precise prediction was very unlikely.

Thales also contributed to mathematics, and is considered by many the first mathematician in the West, as he introduced geometry to Greece. There’s even a story about Thales assisting king Croesus’ military endeavors, during which he helped his army cross a river by digging a diversion to reduce the waterflow.

Yet, stories like these remain doubtful.

And another challenge with Thales is that he didn’t write anything down. At least, he might have, but none of it survived in any substantial way. Luckily, many wrote about him. No less than historian Herodotus, the heavyweight philosopher Aristotle and the well-known biographer Diogenes Laertius mentioned him.

From what I’ve read about him, I’d say that his most important contribution to philosophy is his theory about arche. See, Thales believed that all originated from something; a single substance everything is made of. And to him, it was clear that the arche was water.

We don’t know exactly what led Thales to believe that water is the first principle. But I think it’s pretty easy to construct a rationale, simply by observing the world around us.

We could start by looking at ourselves: humans are roughly 60% water. All living beings need water to survive; plants need water to grow, humans and animals need to drink water, fish need to be surrounded by water. It seems clear as day that water is one of the most significant building blocks of life; everything alive has a moist nature. Thales noticed specifically that seeds (the basis of so many organisms) are generally moist.

For Thales, as a Greek, water was everywhere. The ocean was never far away. And the Greeks were a seafaring civilization. Other continents were mostly a mystery, but it seemed that all land masses were surrounded by water. And it surely wouldn’t have escaped Thales that water is so prominent that it even falls from the sky. He went as far as to declare that the Earth was floating on a giant primordial ocean! And this ocean was endlessly deep.

If we go along with the idea that water is where everything comes from and returns to, the idea that our world is surrounded by vast amounts of it, makes sense. Consistent with this idea, Thales believed that earthquakes were not caused by the god Poseidon, but by fluctuations in the oceans the Earth is resting on.

Even though Thales was wrong, his speculation was nonetheless much closer to what we’d call “scientific” than the myth of Poseidon. So, here we see this first philosopher ‘ditching’ a conventional human-like god and replacing it with a theory of nature, based on observation, rational explanations, arguments and logic. It was a shift from mythos to logos.

Apparently, Thales’ endeavors met with mockery from his surroundings.

His curiosity about the world… Well, to many of his fellow Milesians, it must have seemed useless. What good was staring at the stars when real life demanded hard work, feeding your family, and earning a living? Shouldn’t a real man do some real man’s work?

According to some versions of the story, Thales was pretty annoyed by the comments of his fellow citizens, and became determined to prove himself. So, what did he do? He used his knowledge of the stars to predict a good crop of olives. He then hired all the olive presses in Miletus and neighbouring island Chios.

So, when the olive harvest came, demand skyrocketed, and he could rent them out at any price he wanted. He made a lot of money. And most importantly: he proved that he, as a philosopher, could get rich if he wanted to. But getting rich wasn’t his goal in life, as he found meaning in what he did: natural philosophy.

Thales ended up highly respected and revered, because of his wisdom and accomplishments. He even became known as one of the Seven Sages of Ancient Greece.

After Thales, many would share the curiosity for how the world works. And many would choose learning over riches, wisdom over social status, and, I’d say, curiosity over rigid beliefs. During his lifetime, another curious mind arose in Miletus; another Presocratic philosopher set to continue what Thales had started.

Anaximander & the boundless

Anaximander was quite a bit younger than Thales. Some estimations say they were about a generation apart, but we don’t exactly know. What we do know is that, like Thales, Anaximander was born and raised in Miletus, and he was familiar with Thales’ ideas. He was most likely his student.

If Thales was the first philosopher, Anaximander was the first one who wrote things down, which is great, because it gives us direct insight into what he thought. Unfortunately, almost everything he wrote is lost.

As with Thales, much has been written about Anaximander. But from the Presocratic philosopher himself, there’s just one quote left directly coming from him, which goes like this:

“All things must in equity again decline into that whence they have their origin for they must give satisfaction and atonement for injustice each in the order of time.”

If you’re puzzled as I was when I read that quote, I’m not alone at least.

There has been tons of speculation about what this means. And we’ll probably never know exactly. But it’s likely a description of an impersonal law governing the universe, closely related to his idea of the first principle, the arche.

Like Thales, Anaximander seems to have been a curious fellow. He wasn’t afraid to travel. He drew one of the earliest maps of the world. He introduced a very special device in Greece which could determine the position of the sun using shadow. It’s basically a sundial, but the Greeks called it a ‘gnomon.’ And the introduction of the gnomon in ancient Greece was huge, as it allowed them to measure time.

Even though some speculate Anaximander invented this device, he most likely didn’t. From what I’ve read, scholars seem to agree that he got it from Babylonian traders who were present in Miletus. Moreover, the Chinese had been using this device for hundreds of years before Anaximander even walked the Earth. Nevertheless, it shows his interest in science and ‘what’s out there’; an interest that led him to make some pretty wild speculations.

Before we move on to his main theory, we cannot ignore his views on the shape and position of the Earth. Let’s be mindful of the fact that most early civilizations saw the Earth as simply the sky above and the land below. That’s it. They had no conception of a sphere nor entertained the idea that there could be something below the Earth, or that the Earth is floating within some giant space, along with other celestial bodies.

Anaximander, however, came up with the radical theory that the Earth isn’t supported by anything, but maintains a fixed position in space (what that “space” actually meant to him, we’ll get to in a minute).

This wasn’t a small step toward our current understanding. Thales still assumed there was nothing below the Earth but a huge mass of water. Anaximander claimed that the Earth is an object surrounded by space. And this claim turned out to be correct!

Anaximander misses the mark when it comes to the shape of the Earth. He saw the Earth as a cylinder or thick disc, like twenty CD’s stacked together (If you’re Gen Z or younger, and you don’t know what a CD looks like, Google it). This cylinder shaped Earth was surrounded by air, clouds and heavenly bodies. His ideas about the heavenly bodies were pretty bizarre, by the way.

He didn’t think the Sun and stars were spheres. Instead, he imagined huge wheels filled with fire circling around the Earth, with holes that let the fire shine through. The closest wheels, full of tiny holes, made the stars. A bit further away, there was a wheel with a single hole. This was the Moon. The largest, farthest wheel, also with one hole, was the Sun. Yes, this model wasn’t exactly a scientific breakthrough. But a clever, creative attempt.

Contrary to Thales, Anaximander didn’t follow the idea that the Earth is floating on water. He believed that the Earth stays motionless at the center of a symmetrical universe. The Earth doesn’t fall down, because there’s simply nothing ‘to fall toward’ because of its central position. Things could fall down to Earth, though, but the Earth itself remains fixed.

I know. This may seem just another inaccurate, amateurish view of reality, no less strange than theories like Flat Earth and Hollow Earth, which modern science can easily debunk. But at the time, the idea of a floating Earth, surrounded by what we today call ‘space,’ meaning that celestial bodies can travel under the Earth, was truly something. Karl Popper, a 20th century philosopher, calls it (and I quote) “one of the boldest, most revolutionary, and most portentous ideas in the whole history of human thinking.”

Anaximander was right on several things: the Earth floating in space, the Sun being a huge mass, pretty far away, the Moon being closer to the Earth than the Sun, and the Sun and stars being largely made up of fire. Given the little knowledge people had back then, this was pretty admirable.

But we haven’t looked into his main theory yet; the theory about the first principle; his ‘philosophy of everything’, so to speak.

Thales had a strong case declaring water the source of everything. And Anaximander must have felt that too. But he didn’t believe that a single element like water could be such a source. He apparently saw it as insufficient for declaring the origins of everything. When we think of it, we can see the flaws of Thales’ theory.

For example: when water is the first principle, how do we explain fire? Or how do we explain drought? As drought is a lack of water, isn’t there something else there that, you know, lies at the basis of whatever the thing is that’s dry, thus, devoid of water?

So, in Anaximander’s view, the arche had to be something that allowed all these opposites in nature to occur, whether it’s wet or dry, warm or cold, soft or hard. It had to be something unlike the elements, something from which they could occur. Hence, it had to be neutral in essence and overarching in nature; something everything comes from and returns to.

What was his idea? The “Apeiron”. That’s a fancy Greek word, which we could translate as “the boundless” or “the infinite” or “something without limits”.

It’s difficult to describe something boundless and infinite. It’s even difficult, if not impossible, to imagine it. But for Anaximander, it made much more sense that everything came from something undefinable and boundless, than from one of the elements. In terms of logic, we could put it like this: When something is undefined, it has the potency to become anything.

Anaximander’s idea of the ‘Apeiron’ isn’t as far-fetched as it might seem. There have been other worldviews throughout history that contain something similar. Take, for example, ‘Tao’ in Taoism, the ‘Brahman’ from Hinduism, or ‘pneuma’ in Stoicism. So, there seems to be something about the idea of a boundless, primal source, that just intuitively clicks with people.

Yet, Miletus gave birth to another Presocratic philosopher who rejected Anaximander’s idea of the boundless.

Anaximenes & air

Call me stupid, but I think that the idea of a boundless primal source is actually pretty good. If I had lived in Miletus at that time, and was looking for a non-mythical, rational explanation of the universe, I’d probably have fallen for it. But real, die hard philosophers tend to be highly critical of the works of their predecessors. No matter how comforting and plausible an idea sounds; they will shake it to its core and utterly demolish it if they can.

Enter Anaximenes. This Milesian philosopher walked around the city one day, looked at the sea and at the sky, and thought to himself: “Thales and Anaximander, nice try, but I think you’re wrong about the origins and nature of the universe.”

I’m just speculating of course. Apparently, Anaximenes was a pupil of Anaximander, although not all scholars agree on this. Even less is known about his life than about Thales’s. But his ideas of the “arche” have been preserved and his status as the third Milesian presocratic philosopher is agreed upon.

When it comes to his theories, I’ve got some good news for the flat-earth conspiracy theorists among us: Anaximenes thought the Earth was flat. He also believed that our flat Earth was one of the first things in existence, from which celestial bodies like the Sun and the Moon separated themselves.

Anaximenes believed in natural processes lying at the basis of existence. His philosophy of everything is a philosophy of change. Things exist because they’ve changed into what they are from something else. Hence, to Anaximenes, the first principle was a highly transformative force.

But he thought Anaximander’s idea of the apeiron was too vague. How can something undefinable be the source of all we see? Instead, Anaximenes proposed that the origin of everything must be something concrete and observable. To him, the arche was air.

At first glance, wasn’t he taking a step backwards? I mean, Anaximander quite convincingly explained that everything could not derive from a single element, like water, earth, fire or air. So, what made Anaximenes think that air was capable of being the source of everything?

He didn’t see air as equal to, let’s say, water or fire. He noticed that air surrounds us all. We’re moving within air, breathing air. And, looking at the sky, aren’t we confronted with a seemingly infinite amount of air? Sounds fair. But what about earth, fire and water? How can these elements possibly come from air?

Here’s where Anaximenes’ ideas of natural processes come in. In his view, two basic processes take place by which air, as a building block of everything, changes into any form we know: condensation and rarefaction. When air condenses, it becomes wind and cloud. If it condenses further, it becomes water, earth and stone. But air can also become less dense, which is the process of rarefaction. When air becomes less dense, according to Anaximenes, it becomes hotter and could eventually turn into fire.

The role of change in his theory of arche is apparent. The universe is in constant flux; substances changing from one form to another, between dense and thin, hot and cold, dry and wet, light and dark.

Errors aside, the Milesians at least tried to explain the universe in a rational way, independent of myth and the human-like gods. But still, they didn’t seem to deny the divine. It seems that they tried to give it a place in their ideas. Thales, for example, supposedly had said that “everything is full of gods,” as he saw water as divine. Anaximenes thought the divine was air.

Now, aside from the natural philosophy brought about by the Milesians, what wisdom could we derive from their actions and ideas? Is there anything we could apply to our own lives? I think we could.

Ancient wisdom

Miletus may have been given birth to the first Western philosophers; it was, most likely, also a place drenched with superstition, religious practices, mythological worldviews and beliefs.

So, what the Milesian first philosophers did was bold: they went against the grain, against the conventional, and by doing so started a tradition finding understanding of the universe and its origins, beyond mythology.

The idea of “doing your own research” comes to mind. Oftentimes, especially in times like these, in which misinformation is abundant, it’s important to remain sceptical toward conventional beliefs. With conventional beliefs, I also mean beliefs of the specific environment or even echo chamber you’re in, or the narratives coming from a certain media outlet; in short, things people say, often on repeat, which you assume to be true. Are you willing to update these beliefs if they turn out to be false?

What’s so special about the Milesian philosophers, is that they updated each other. Their theories weren’t fixed. They remained open to criticism and further development.

This may seem a weakness to some. After all, aren’t ideas that never change, truths that are absolute, the strongest? Well yes, if they really unequivocally represent the truth. But as long as there’s no definitive answer and no real, absolute proof, isn’t any definitive claim invalid to begin with?

Now, suppose you have a theory. It’s the strongest theory you can come up with, based on, let’s say, years of observation and research. And the theory is rationally sound as well. It makes sense, so to speak. But even though it’s a strong theory, you leave room for refinement, improvement, and even debunking.

Now, in terms of progress, isn’t that the best way to do it? To propose that theory, yet also leave room for updates? I mean, aren’t fixed dogmas that cannot be challenged but also cannot be proven, an impediment to getting closer to the truth? What’s to win by always trying to conserve ideas, even though these ideas are outdated or just downright gibberish? Isn’t that a surefire road to ignorance?

What Thales of Miletus started was subject to change. And it has been for many centuries, to this day. Coincidentally or not, change also lies at the heart of his theory about the first principle; all things coming from and going back to water, taking shape, losing shape. Change leads day into night, birth into death, rising into falling. It’s a natural, yet terrifying thing.

When Solon, the Athenian sage and poet, was grieving the sudden death of his son, Thales argued that such distress was the reason he didn’t want a wife and kids. Plutarch, the author of Thales’ account, criticized that we shouldn’t try to run from the assaults of fortune, but build the fortitude to endure them.

Whether or not Plutarch is right, I just kept wondering why Thales thought as he thought. Maybe his deep awareness of change and, thus, death and separation, led to him not wanting a family. Or maybe it’s just the nature of a philosopher, many of whom were loners, and couldn’t be bothered starting families.

I think we could safely say that many philosophers indeed differ from the “average Joes.” They may be impractical, and even a bit estranged; disentangled from typical worldly pursuits, like careers, wealth or family life. But as Socrates made clear: a philosopher may be unacquainted with the world; he’s concerned with much larger questions, such as the essence of man, and how people should live in accordance with it.

So let’s forgive philosophers for not being dads or moms, for not fixing leaky toilets, climbing the career ladder, or keeping up with celebrity gossip. And let’s also forgive ourselves for wanting to spend less time on worldly affairs, and more on pondering the bigger questions of life.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey so far. We’re about to board the ship again and leave Ionia, at least for a while. We’re about to spend time in a city named Croton, where we’ll discover the life and ideas of a rather mysterious but important presocratic philosopher.

I hope to see you then,

Thank you for listening.

Sources

* The Ancient Milesian Philosophers: Thales, Anaximander, Anaximenes (Doug west, PhD)

* Thales of Miletus: The Beginnings of Western Science and Philosophy (Patricia F. O’Grady)

* Anaximander: And the Nature of Science (Carlo Rovelli)

* The First Philosophers (Robin Waterfield)

* A Presocratics Reader: Selected Fragments and Testimonia (Patricia Curd, Richard D. McKirahan)

* Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Richard D. McKirahan)

* Early Greek Philosophy (John Burnet)

* Presocratic Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction (Catherine Osborne)

Online sources

* Plutarch, The Parallel Lives: https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Solon*.html

* Seven Sages of Greece (wiki): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_Sages_of_Greece

* Introduction to Thales, Anaximenes, and Anaximander (YouTube, Academy of Ideas)

* Thales and Early Greek Thought (YouTube, Philosophy and Faith)

* Thales of Miletus (IEP) https://iep.utm.edu/thales/

* Anaximander (IEP): https://iep.utm.edu/anaximander/

* Thales of Miletus (wiki): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thales_of_Miletus

* Anaximander: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anaximander

* Anaximenes of Miletus: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anaximenes_of_Miletus

Creative Commons (YouTube)

* © Jose Mario Pires / CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Arch-Museum-Istanbul-66.jpg), Removed background by Journey of Ideas, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/legalcode

* Institute for the Study of the Ancient World from New York, United States of America (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ostia,_Baths_of_the_Seven_Sages_(II)_(4687819515).jpg), „Ostia, Baths of the Seven Sages (II) (4687819515)“, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode

* Dosseman (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Miletus_Baths_of_Faustina_columned_portico_in_2007_4624.jpg), „Miletus Baths of Faustina columned portico in 2007 4624“, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/legalcode

* Tomisti (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Miletus_seen_from_German_excavation_house.jpg), „Miletus seen from German excavation house“, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/legalcode

* Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin FRCP(Glasg) (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Detail_of_the_Market_Gate_of_Miletus_at_the_Pergamon_Museum,_Germany._2nd_century_CE._From_Miletus,_modern-day_Turkey.jpg), „Detail of the Market Gate of Miletus at the Pergamon Museum, Germany. 2nd century CE. From Miletus, modern-day Turkey“, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/legalcode

* Bernard Gagnon (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Miletus_-_Ancient_Greek_theatre_01.jpg), „Miletus - Ancient Greek theatre 01“, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/legalcode

* Bernard Gagnon (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Miletus_-_Ancient_Greek_theatre_08.jpg), „Miletus - Ancient Greek theatre 08“, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/legalcode

Think of a world where stories explain everything. You’re looking at the moon, the stars, the trees, the ocean. You feel the wind blow, hear the sounds of birds, and see the sun come up every morning. Every phenomenon is connected to a narrative. The moon, for example, is not explained as being this big, rocky globe made of different compounds circling around the Earth. No, the moon is a divine force; a goddess whose goal is to protect us during the night.

And how about the oceans and seas? Aren’t these just massive bodies of salty water; products of millions of years of evolution? Not in this world. In this world, the oceans and seas are governed by human-like gods, home to countless divine beings, such as nymphs and sea monsters and may even be a pathway to the underworld.

And if you encounter a storm when sailing these divine waters, you’re not simply encountering a natural phenomenon caused by air pressure, shifts in temperature, and wind patterns. No, you’ve just gotten yourself into the wrath of the gods, a punishment which, very likely, is because of some bad behavior in the past.

But there were some people not satisfied with these explanations.

This whole idea that human-like gods are the driving force of the universe? These people didn’t buy it. They began to question the gods and every other accepted belief about life and reality. They wanted to understand the world, without relying on narratives which, as they realized, were profoundly polluted by human fantasies. So they started a revolution: a revolution of thought and ideas which changed the way we think forever.

Today we call these thinkers the presocratics, also known as the first philosophers. Among the ancient Greek philosophers, the presocratics are generally less known than figures like Socrates and Aristotle or Epictetus. But without the presocratics, these giants of Western philosophy would probably never have emerged.

So who were these presocratics? Why are they called this way? Where did they come from? And what ideas did they develop? And why exactly are they so impactful?

We’re about to find out in this and the coming episodes.

This is Journey of Ideas, my name is Stefan, also known as Einzelgänger, the creator behind the YouTube channel of the same name. I’d like to take you on a journey through meaning, wisdom, and much more, starting at the very beginning of philosophy. I’m both a fellow-traveler and a guide on this trip, walking beside you. Some of the places we’ll pass through I’ve already visited, others are new to me.

You can see this new project more or less as an Einzelgänger spinoff, starting from the dawn of philosophy. I hope you’ll like this first episode. Let me know if you enjoyed it; any feedback is welcome. For now, you can follow Journey of Ideas without visuals and background music on the platforms Spotify, Apple, and Substack… and with visuals and music on YouTube, in 4k.

This is not an AI voice. I’m a real person. For those watching on YouTube: I don’t show my face, mainly because I want the focus to be on the story, not my personality or appearance. If you want to stay updated about my work subscribe to my newsletter on Substack or on my website journeyofideas.com, where you’ll also find written versions of this new podcast slash YouTube series.

Now, all hands on deck. We’re approaching the shores of ancient Ionia, a Greek colony that once thrived along the Aegean coast of what is now modern-day Turkey. It’s here, in the sixth century B.C., where a profound shift took place: the very beginning of Western philosophy. But our journey won’t be without decent preparation.

Yes, we’re tourists, but not the kind who drift from one spot to the next, unaware of where they truly are, as long as their Instagrams and TikToks are fed. We want to know where we’re going; we want some history and context. At least, I do, because in my experience, understanding a place really brings it to life.

Arriving in Ionia

We’re glaring at Ionia’s coastal region, the city of Miletus during the late seventh century BC to be specific. This was the Archaic period: a time of rapid change in ancient Greece.

Something big was about to start in Ionia.

When learning more about it, I discovered that Ionia is nothing short of a fascinating region. It was located in a part of the world that’s heavily debated today: is it Europe or not? I’m talking about what we now call Turkey.

Ionia was geographically part of Asia Minor, with Europe in the West and the Orient in the East. During the seventh century BC, Ionia was part of the Greek world. The Greeks were also known as the Hellenics.

Throughout the ages, the Hellenics saw themselves as the ideal civilization: manly, spirited, freedom-loving, goodlooking, but also sophisticated, wise, and rational. Studs on the outside, philosophers on the inside. The full package. As a self-declared ideal civilization, they often felt better than others, such as the people from the Orient.

In the eyes of the Greeks, the Orientals (referring to people like the Lydians and Persians) were nothing to write home about. They viewed them as decadent, effeminate, and lacking in vitality and spirit. And people in Northern Europe didn’t fare much better.. Sure, they were fierce and brave, swinging around with their spears and axes… but too uncultured: unfit for the finer things in life, like art, politics, reason and philosophy. And the Greeks had a term for these people: ‘barbaroi’ or ‘barbarians.’

Even though the ancient Greeks admired other peoples in some respects, perhaps for their knowledge about things like astronomy or mathematics, or because of their architecture, they generally weren’t fond of foreigners, often looking down on them based on rather dubious stereotypes.

It is funny isn’t it? Those who create these stereotypes usually place themselves at the top and the ‘Other’ a couple of notches below. And it seems we’re still pretty good at this practice today: in-group preference while diminishing the ‘Other’. The unique location between East and West is partly the reason why Ionia’s history was so eventful. The lands lying in front of us witnessed a plethora of events, cultures, and clashing civilizations. It was subjected to many different rulers from all directions.

The mountains and hills we see in the distance once belonged to the Bronze Age Hittite Empire. After its collapse, local Anatolian peoples and, later, Greek settlers from across the Aegean came in.

Over the centuries, the land fell under the rule of the Lydians and the Persians: you know, the people that the Greeks deemed effeminate and lacking in spirit. Afterwards came other people like the Macedonians, Romans, Byzantines, and eventually the Turks who still populate the region today.

So, as we’re on a journey of ideas, why do we start our trip here, in Ionia? It’s because Ionia was home to what many regard as the very first Western philosophers. The first of the first. These thinkers, who roamed the city during the seventh and sixth centuries BC, were about to unleash a revolution.

But before we discover their stories and ideas, I think it’s essential to learn a bit more about the time and place. We want to know what life was like there, how people lived, what they believed, so we can form a picture of why these first philosophers (and therefore Western philosophy itself!) emerged.

To find out, let’s take a closer look at when and where these thinkers arose.

A Walk in Miletus

We don’t know exactly what Ionia and Miletus looked like back then, or what life was like there. They weren’t uploading photos to some ancient Greek version of Instagram back then. We rely on historical accounts; ancient texts and archeology. So, it’s impossible to visit the real place. But we could at least shape a picture of what we know.

Let’s try to imagine it. Let’s shape a picture of, in this case, a 7th century BC Miletus. And while we do, let’s have a short walk in it. Miletus strikes us as a lively place. Fishing boats roam around. Trading ships come and go; some go westwards, others go into the direction of the mouth of the river; the Meander, to be precise. Some important looking men walk beside the walls that surround the city.

Miletus was an important place, possibly the most important ‘polis’ (which is roughly translated as city-state) in Ionia at that time. It was a cultural center, bustling with visitors from many places.

The air smells of the sea surrounding the peninsula the city is built on. We see architecture, most likely influenced by other civilizations, such as Egypt and Lydia. Most houses are modest, made from mud brick and wood. But here and there, larger structures appear: buildings of importance, where wealthy-looking men come and go.

The streets smell of freshly baked bread, but also of rotting remains of food and waste. It’s crowded. Traders, craftsmen, fishermen, and slaves… mostly men in light-colored tunics. But we also see some strangers here and there; people whose faces and clothing reveal that they’re not from Greece, but from distant lands. They may come from Egypt, Phoenicia or maybe from as far as Babylonia. And the women? Probably inside their houses doing chores.

It’s important to note that most of the ruins visible today at the site of ancient Miletus (including the Ionic Stoa and the theatre) were constructed after the time of the Presocratic philosophers. So, we’re dealing with a city much older than the archeological sites available today.

But temples and shrines were extremely likely to have been part of the city. So, we’re seeing these places rising along the streets; buildings and shrines, dedicated to the gods. In these sacred places, we see people stretching their arms toward the sky, reciting prayers. The air smells of burning fat and bones. Animal offerings were common in those days. These people are honoring the gods… and they’re taking it very, very seriously.

The gods had a special place in the lives of the ancient Greeks. And these gods were many, and some of them are still widely known today. Poseidon, for example, ruling the vast and unpredictable seas. Or Hades, the god of the dead and in charge of the underworld.

For the Greeks, the gods had a huge finger in the pie. For example, whether your harvest would be good or not depended almost entirely on the gods. Whether your children would be healthy depended on the gods. Storms, illnesses, drought and even enemy invasions were simply signs of divine punishment or discontent.

For the Milesians, and probably most of the Greeks of that age, the gods were intertwined with virtually every aspect of life, from business to physical health to weather conditions. All is the work of human-like deities, and thus, you better be on good terms with them, capricious as they were by the way. For us, these views may seem ridiculous, but it was common sense for most Greeks; the most normal thing in the world.

However.

There was also another side to the city of Miletus. As it was such a busy cultural center, it was also well connected to other regions of the known world well beyond Greece, such as Lydia and Egypt. International trade was already there. And even though direct contact between the Greeks and the Chinese was unlikely, it is possible that Chinese silk traveled to Greece, through other civilizations in the East.

Foreigners not only brought in merchandise but also different views about the world. This exposure probably made the Milesians more open-minded than the average Greeks; more willing to explore ideas that deviated from the norm. And thus, an intellectual community arose in Miletus, making it a fertile breeding ground for what we now call Western philosophy. But before we go into these first philosophers, I think it’s important to talk a bit more about the gods.

During our short walk through the city (or at least our reconstruction of it), we saw people at the temples and shrines, the rituals, the prayers, the offerings. But among the inhabitants of Miletus, there were also people who questioned the ideas of human-like gods governing the universe; people not satisfied with the conventional explanations of how the world works.

We could say that the first philosophers started out by challenging the dominant view of their time (and with good reason). To understand the first philosophers, I believe we must also better understand the worldview they challenged. So, what was this worldview exactly? Why did the ancient Greeks see the world the way they did? For example: Why didn’t they just see an ocean as an ocean, instead of a divine realm, ruled by a powerful bearded god with a trident?

Let’s go into this briefly.

The age of stories

Suppose you live in a world without the explanations of modern science; a world vastly unexamined and small, where distant lands are unknown and natural phenomena belong to the great riddle of existence staring in your face at any moment.

You see a volcano erupt, birds flying around in curious formations, insects crawling on the ground, and you think to yourself: What is all this? Why is all of this happening? How does it work? And, by the way… why are we here?

As you’re craving for answers, you pose these questions to the vast, starry sky above, hoping that someone, maybe a voice from the heavens, will answer. But guess what… crickets. And as the human being you are, this kind of bothers you. And you aren’t the only one. The riddle of our existence bothered our distant forefathers, too. And it still bothers plenty of people right now, myself included at times.

Let’s face it. We humans are a curious bunch. We have a strong desire for meaning, which sets us apart from our animal friends. We don’t just want to know where the food is; we also want to know where the food is coming from, what it’s made of, and why we’re hungry, and why it should be like this, you know, feeding ourselves on organic stuff to keep our bodies going, and for what?

Suppose you put some insanely curious beings in a world that doesn’t make sense and doesn’t provide any explanations whatsoever on why everything is the way it is, and why all these strange phenomena are thrown at them. What do you think you’ll get? Most likely, some deeply unsatisfied beings; anxious and desperate to understand.

By and large, humans don’t like it when they don’t understand things. And it’s not uncommon for people (even today) to construct a kind of truth, about something they don’t comprehend, just to find a sense of peace with the unknown, even if, deep down, they’re fooling themselves.

So that’s what they did back then: to understand the world, they began to construct explanations of natural phenomena, of their origins, of life and death; in short, the mysteries that confronted them.

But can you really blame them?

I mean, today we’re kind of spoiled. We have loads of empirical evidence to make judgements about things that we can consider objectively true or false, or, at least, very plausible or implausible.

For example, we now know that the Earth is not the center of the universe, but that it’s an orb rotating around the Sun. How do we know this? Because we can prove it. We also know that lightning occurs when there’s a huge amount of static electricity that’s built up in the clouds, which suddenly discharges. Why? Because we’re able to prove it empirically. It’s not magic. It’s science.

But back then, all these phenomena that are so obvious to us, had to be declared without the methods and knowledge we have right now. And so, these ancient humans, hungry for meaning, resorted to a kind of manufacturing of explanations for the world around them. And they did it in a peculiar way. They began to explain the world by the means of stories.

Stories ease the nagging pain of not-knowing, as they provide answers to questions such as: What’s that glowing thing in the sky? Why does the sea move like that, shimmering under the sun? Why does light turn to dark, and dark back to light? Where do we come from, as a species, but also as an ethnic group, for example? And where are we going after we die?

As a result of their story-telling, whole systems of myth and ritual came into existence. These systems provided narratives that explained the phenomena of the world and told people how to deal with them. So, for a long time, before the emergence of philosophy and science, the ancient Greeks looked at, what we today call, “myth” to make sense of their lives.

These myths weren’t just fairy-tale-like stories about powerful bearded gods living in the clouds or mysterious nymphs guarding rivers and ponds. They were actually quite diverse, and some were even close to plausible historical accounts. In fact, some scholars consider certain myths to be a form of proto-history: early attempts to preserve and explain the past before written history existed.

And the ancient Greeks weren’t alone when it came to using stories to explain the world. The Egyptians did it too, and the Norse people, and the old Germanic people, and the Native Americans, the Aboriginals, the Sumerians, the Indians, the Chinese, the Javanese, and so on. But many scholars would agree that Greek mythology has something special about it: it’s rich, extensive, influential, well-organized and comes in literary masterpieces still widely read today.

I mean, who doesn’t know Zeus, Aphrodite, Hera and the likes? And haven’t most of us heard about the heroic tales of Hercules strangling serpents or Theseus killing the Minotaur with his bare hands? How many films, books and video games are based on (and inspired by) Greek mythology?

That said, a new way of thinking, a post-myth approach to life and reality was looming around the corner. And soon mythology would be accompanied by what we now call ‘philosophy’. But how did this happen? Let’s explore this right now.

Of Greek religion

When talking about ancient Greek mythology we cannot ignore two individuals; two poets whose works helped to turn this vast collection of local myths and beliefs into a more coherent corpus, so to speak. The guys we’re talking about are Homer and Hesiod.

Homer and Hesiod were from ancient Greece and lived in the eighth and seventh century BC. Though it’s debated whether Homer truly existed or if his works were actually compilations of other poets. But we’ll ignore that for now.

What’s so special about Homer and Hesiod?

They created the first surviving Greek written poetic works, and their writings offer the earliest detailed accounts of the gods and Greek mythology. It’s not that they invented Greek mythology. Greek mythology, although fragmented and unsystematized, already existed long before Homer and Hesiod.

Enter the Mycenaeans, who are considered the first advanced Greek civilization and flourished from around 1700 until 1200 BC. Yes, that’s quite a long time ago. They existed way before Homer and Hesiod.

The Mycenaeans had myths and worshipped many of the same gods we know from the later Greeks. But they didn’t write anything down about their gods: their script, known as Linear-B, was only used for administrative reasons, such as writing down how much grain was in the barn, or to list important people. Their mythology was passed on through ritual and spoken word, although there are written records of names of the gods.

When the Mycenaean civilization collapsed and their Linear B script faded into obscurity, Greece slipped into what we now call the Greek Dark Ages. Myths survived, but in spoken word, not in writing.

At the end of the Dark Ages, a new time began: the Archaic period. During the Archaic period, Homer and Hesiod dropped what would become the foundational texts of Greek mythology, that, in essence, repackaged the old gods into the Olympian versions.

We know Homer from his epic poems the Iliad and Odyssey. Revisiting these works recently, probably since high school to be honest, I realized how entertaining they actually are. The Iliad tells about the Trojan war, the anti-hero Achilles, Hector and his brother Paris, and many more characters, and the active involvement of the gods in the whole event, which supposedly lasted ten years. The Odyssey (which I enjoyed slightly more) is an adventure of the witty king Odysseus, meeting misfortune after misfortune, as he tries to return to Ithaka. The gods play a huge role in this story.

We also meet with mythical monsters like the Cyclops, which are giant one-eyed beings or Scylla; a monster with six dog heads living on a rock; definitely not a creature you want to encounter on a journey across the sea. We also get a peek into the underworld; a dark, cold, depressing place.

Hesiod is lesser known than Homer and wrote entirely different works. Instead of epic stories, Hesiod wrote a systematic description of the origins of the gods in a very influential work named the Theogony. The Theogony, which fundamentally tells the creation myth of the Greek pantheon, presents us with not only the gods, but also many other divine entities, such as the primordial beings Gaia and Tartaros, who personify the Earth and the underworld. It also tells us that these primordial beings gave birth to the Titans, and the Titans gave birth to the Olympian gods.

What’s so striking about Hesiod’s work and the mythology it represents is that it paints a deeply ‘animate’ universe. Almost everything is personified. Natural forces are human-like with similar temperaments. They were gods, individuals with their own will, who could hear your prayers and might even speak to you, if only they appeared in the flesh. They were all part of this large, mighty family of immortal beings, many of whom dwelled above the clouds on top of Mount Olympus.

Hesiod makes it all clear and easy to follow for the average Greek. He may not be as entertaining as Homer but he’s certainly informative. Think of it like watching Homer’s epic blockbuster and then searching for in-depth, systematic explanations in a special wiki dedicated to that movie. That wiki is Hesiod’s Theogony.

Both Homer and Hesiod’s writings were held in high regard in ancient Greece. They were a go-to source for understanding the world; especially the gods, from Zeus and Hera to Athena and Apollo. The temples we saw in Miletus are dedicated to these gods; divine forces upon whom the fragile lives of mortals completely depend (at least that’s what people believed). And as becomes clear when reading Homer and Hesiod: these gods aren’t perfect beings. They are definitely not role models like Jesus or Buddha. They are often cruel, envious and whimsical. They are human-like; flawed inside out.

Just imagine your life depending on such beings. The people in the temples must have feared them. Your best bet would be to keep them happy, right? Hence, the many rituals, prayers and offerings, as they hoped that by appeasing them, they’d get good fortune in return, such as a decent harvest or victory in battle.

By the way, if this all sounds a bit like religion to you, you’re not alone. Even though religion is a fairly modern concept, the ancient Greeks did engage in practices and held beliefs that we today consider religious. Or, if you allow me to flex my religious studies jargon; there was a lot of religiosity at that time, which had many perks akin to what religion means for people now: it explained the world, there were supreme beings to worship, it gave people a sense of meaning and place, it functioned as social cement, and it provided a feeling of control.

So, we can say that the ancient Greeks were pretty religious. But their form of religion differed from, say, Christianity or Islam: there was no holy book, no central doctrine, no fixed articles of belief. Instead, it was a blend of stories and rituals, and both the practice and the content of mythology varied depending on the place. Moreover, each Greek city had its own local myths and heroes, often explaining the origin of the city and its people.

Now, why is all this important? What has all this information about mythology and religion to do with the rise of the first philosophers?

We’re about to find out.

The presocratics arise

Attaching stories to natural phenomena may seem to us like a practice of ignorant minds. Like, who believes this stuff? Who believes that the Sun is actually a guy in a chariot named Helios? Or that way up there above the clouds, on top of the mount Olympus, Zeus, the king of the gods lords over the Earth? And that all natural phenomena we see, all animals, seas, beaches, trees, plants, the weather; are either personified or governed by these, again, human-like gods?

Just imagine being a bit sceptical of all this, watching people go in and out the temples, hearing people pray from a distance. You witness goats and pigs offered at shrines and altars everyday. You see your fellow citizens taking part in sacred festivals where drinking wine is a ritual: a tribute to the mad god Dionysus. And you think: “Why? Why have we explained the universe using these capricious gods for ages? I’m sure we can do better.”

Our forefathers and their forefathers may have been passing on these stories like a torch of eternal fire. But do these stories, how familiar and soothing they may be, really contain the truth about things? Or do they divert us from what’s really going on like a warm, comfortable blanket shielding us from how things really are?

What if these gods are not what we believe them to be? What if we put the conventional understanding of the divine aside for a moment, and see if we can explain the universe without appealing to the gods? Here’s where the presocratic philosophers entered the building. Or temple, should I say?

These thinkers wanted to explain reality based on natural principles instead of mythological stories. Of course, this was huge! They were at the start of a whole different way of thinking. They tried to understand the world through natural causes, instead of using stories about gods like Homer and Hesiod did.

But, why the name ‘presocratics’?

It has something to do with a guy named Socrates. You might have heard of him. He’s regarded as one of the greatest philosophers ever lived; so great that in academia they began to make a distinction between those before him and those after him. A bit like we do with Christ; there’s a time before and after Christ, as if he was the beginning of an era. He was, in fact. And so was Socrates.

But Socrates wasn’t a self made man entirely: he built upon something. That something, that foundation that not just Socrates but countless other philosophers also used to shape their unique ways of seeing the world, was laid there by the presocratics.

The first one of them, Thales, was from Miletus. Then came Anaximander and his pupil Anaximenes, both from Miletus as well. Then, there was Pythagoras from Samos and his curious cult. Then came Xenophanes, Heraclitus, Parmenides, Anaxagoras, Empedocles and several more after and in between. They asked themselves all kinds of questions like:

How does the universe really work? Do gods really exist? Or is there, perhaps, just one God or first principle?

Truth be told, trying to find answers to questions like these is pretty ambitious. How do we even attain this knowledge? Could we find answers by changing the way we think? Is there actually a right way to think about things and what would that be? And are there limits to our knowledge?

The presocratics wanted rational explanations. They marked the transition from mythos to logos: from attributing nature to gods to understanding nature through observation and reason. By and large, they didn’t completely reject the idea of gods or the divine, but they didn’t want to rely on the conventional Greek pantheon laid out by people like Hesiod anymore to explain things.

I want our journey to cross these philosophers and places they lived, because I think their efforts are admirable and their work is significant, even though many of the theories they came up with were pretty implausible and, sometimes, downright bizarre. But it’s intriguing, in my opinion. It’s food for thought. And we might even encounter some profound wisdom in their actions and ideas. I also want to take a look at the sophists, a group of philosophers who built on the works of the presocratics and were met by the people with mixed responses.

If you’re with me, stay aboard. In our next expedition, we’ll go ashore for a second time and meet with the ideas of the rebel thinkers of Miletus, starting with Thales, who came to the conclusion that everything comes from water. And, if we’d believe the historian and philosopher Plutarch, Thales held a personal conviction that marriage and children just isn’t a good idea.

I hope to see you then!

Thank you for listening.

Sources

* The First Philosophers (Robin Waterfield)

* A Presocratics Reader: Selected Fragments and Testimonia (Patricia Curd, Richard D. McKirahan)

* Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Richard D. McKirahan)

* Early Greek Philosophy (John Burnet)

* The Iliad & The Odyssey (Homer)

* Foundation Myths and Politics in Ancient Ionia (Naoise Mac Sweeny)

* Presocratic Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction (Catherine Osborne)

* Theogony and Works and Days (Hesiod)

* Greek Myths & Tales (Richard Buxton)

Online sources

* https://www.britannica.com/topic/pre-Socratic-philosophy

* https://iep.utm.edu/presocra/

* https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/presocratics/

* https://www.worldhistory.org/mycenae/

* https://sites.utexas.edu/scripts/files/2020/06/2008-TGP-MycenaeanReligion.pdf

* https://www.worldhistory.org/Greek_Dark_Age/

* https://www.fhw.gr/choros/miletus/en/sources.php

* https://www.fhw.gr/choros/miletus/en/index.php

* https://www.fhw.gr/choros/miletus/en/arxaiki301.php?menu_id=3&submenu_id=301